


The Artist

by cupcakemuke



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer
Genre: 5SOS - Freeform, Blood, Gore, Love, Luke Hemmings - Freeform, M/M, Michael Clifford - Freeform, Muke - Freeform, mellifluousmgc, the artist - Freeform, wattpad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9127342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupcakemuke/pseuds/cupcakemuke
Summary: luke loves to draw, and michael becomes his muse— warning: gore¿— lowercase intended— yes, i wrote this story if you recognize it, it's from my wattpad





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> if you aren't comfortable reading about blood, violence, gore, abusive language, etc., please don't read this. i could never live with myself if i knew my words would cause you to want to harm yourself in any way. please take care of yourself, and if you ever need to talk, i'm here.

luke is a very successful artist, whose paintings capture the most intriguing of subjects: beautiful, disturbing, and yet oddly charming. people always wondered the inspiration of his pieces, but luke always responds with a small shrug, replying that the ideas just sort of popped into his mind when he saw certain people around. he loved to imagine the miserable lives that they hid behind their smiles.

and the sad thing was, no one realized that luke was psycho _until it was too late._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter introduces michael and luke, as any traditional exposition would along with setting and brief backstory

michael's life was a big mess ever since he graduated high school the spring before, moved to new york city, and started attending nyu. he thought it was stupid he even attend college, especially since it was not only costly, but he was also an a class idiot. he took no offense to being called an idiot. he knew it was true, and his lack of classroom knowledge was shadowed by his street knowledge and his colorful hair.

   new york was a big, bustling place. michael's keenness allowed him to avoid pick-pockets, and his odd introverted-extroverted demeanor allowed him to avoid anyone that wasn't worth talking to. and that's why michael loved coffee shops.

   everyone came and went into coffee shops, and he'd just watch them. every day there were new people, but there were also the regular customers. a man by the name of ashton came in every day and ordered plain old black coffee, and he was usually sprinting out the doors the second his hands wrapped around the warm beverage. there was a girl named rena who always came in and ordered tea every time (which michael couldn't fathom as a coffee lover).

   and finally, there was this blond guy who came in every day. michael didn't know his name, for he never ordered anything. he'd come in, sit at a table in the far corner of the coffee shop, and sketch. or write. michael couldn't tell which it was, and he usually avoided staring at the man. why? because michael thought he was beautiful, and his biggest fear was that the man would catch his gaze, and spark a conversation.

   it wasn't that michael didn't want to get to know him, because michael did want to get to know him. michael wanted to talk for hours with the mysterious blond. the thing that deterred michael from speaking a word was his fear of saying the wrong thing. michael was afraid he'd scare the boy away, and never see him again.

   of course, this fear was stupid and irrational. michael never realized, but the blond had seen him everyday as well. he had noticed the aquamarine haired boy who always had a latte in front of him along with an iPhone 6 and an unopened walking dead comic book. he'd studied the greyish-greenish eyes of the boy who sat doing the same thing he did: people-watching. the blond knew that the blue haired boy must've been doing it for reasons of his own, but he knew that he had to talk to this boy.

   and so he finally decided to do it.

the blond pushed back his metal chair, it's legs screeching against the floor, and he smirked. he loved strident sounds. he noticed the blue haired boy's eyes flash an emotion for a second, and in that moment he decided that he had to draw him. he had to draw this blue haired man.

   quick footsteps across the stone floor carried the blond to the boy he would soon know as michael clifford in seconds, and his hands found the table, grasping the edge of it with his hands.

   "hello, my name is luke hemmings. may i sit down?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> michael and luke talk for the first time

michael's wide eyes dashed nervously around the room when the blond, who seemed much taller up close, was tapping his fingers against the white table top. the rhythm was quick, and erratic.

'like my heartbeat right now,' michael thought with a shiver, before opening his mouth slightly.

"a-are you talking to me?" and with that michael mentally face-palmed because who else could he be talking to?

"no, i'm talking to the other beautiful, blue-haired boy," the guy, luke, replied with an eye roll.

michael almost turned around in his chair to look behind himself, but he stopped, and swallowed nervously. "i'll ask again: may i sit down?"

"y-yeah," michael's eyes felt like they were opened and he was sucked out of the nervous trench he had been in. this guy was talking to him. he called him beautiful. normally michael would cringe about the girly adjective used to describe himself, but in that moment it seemed fitting, and it felt good to be called beautiful.

the man, luke, pulled out the chair opposite of him, and sat down slowly in the seat. the metal chair creaked under the added weight and because of how used it was. luke propped his elbows on the table casually, and clasped his hands together, rubbing them together even more casually. michael noticed how luke twisted a ring on his pinky finger slowly, and decided that someone needed to say something before this really got awkward.

"what's your name?" luke asked, leaning forward slightly, and chuckling a little bit. michael felt a blush rise to his cheeks.

"m-michael sorry," he laughed awkwardly, and avoided luke's eyes.

silence fell for another minute, and michael decided that he would rather be on a deserted island with no netflix than at that table.

"you really don't say much, do you michael?" luke asked. luke thought that was perfect. people who didn't talk a lot had interesting stories; people like that seemed to believe less people would miss them when they were gone, and in a way, luke thought they were right. justification. justification was the main reason luke did what he did in the first place.

"i have a proposition." luke folded his arms slowly, and leaned back in his chair. "i have a passion for one thing, and one thing only. art. i appreciate the inner beauties of people and the pasts that they hold. i like to think about them. and so that's why i like to draw. and i want to draw you."

if michael had been drinking the caramel latte sitting in front of him, he would've spit it out all over the table, that's how shocked he was.

"me? me? you want to draw me? but i'm–" michael began, but was cut off by the blond abruptly.

"don't tell me about how you don't think you look good enough to be drawn. i chose you. i want to draw you. i could've chosen anyone. i could've chose that curly headed guy that's always rushing around with hazel eyes. i could've picked the pink haired girl that always orders the same tea, and only smiles when someone holds the door open for her. but michael, i chose you. shouldn't you feel honored?" luke ended with a question, and michael raised his gaze and for the first time made solid eye contact with luke's beautiful blue eyes. michael remained silent, and looked away. this felt like a joke to him.

"i meant it when i said that you were a beautiful person," luke cleared his throat, stood up, and pushed out his chair. "this is a one time offer." luke sing-songed. michael stared at him with wide eyes, decisions flying through his mind. luke began to whistle, and went to leave the cafe.

and michael couldn't help but give in.

"wait for me!" he pushed out his chair with a loud screech, causing luke to smirk as michael followed behind him out the door.

luke couldn't wait to draw michael.

but what michael didn't understand was that when luke said he liked to draw, he didn't mean it the way he thought he meant it.

luke liked to draw blood.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> michael goes to luke's place

michael realized that he was a really big idiot when he still continued following the long-legged blond through the busy new york streets when he realized this: he never even talked to people.

michael had always avoided everyone, even his friends sometimes, because he was just that antisocial and overprotective of himself, and now here he was following an "artist" to his apartment or something.

luke was quick on his feet, and easily avoided bumping into people while michael kept getting slammed around by the thousands of people dotting the streets of new york. he was surprised when luke paused to wait for him before descending down the dirty steps into a subway station. michael followed behind him much easier in the basically empty stairwell. when they reached the bottom, they both pulled out their ticket passes, which were annual since who is going to pay each individual time they ride the subway?

when they passed through the turnstiles, luke smiled at him, and motioned for him to follow after him. michael was surprised that they didn't head for a subway going towards times square, or the art fucking district or something, but to the farthest corners of the city in brooklyn.

"i bet you thought that i lived in the art district," luke chuckled at michael's wide eyes, and michael flushed.

"how'd you guess?"

"people have asked me before why i don't. then they see my place and they get it." luke shrugged, and michael didn't know what to say in response so he just nodded awkwardly.

the subway ride was long, and quiet, but it made michael feel at peace. the peace of the subway car as it sped through the tunnels.

when they finally reached their stop, luke tapped michael to get him to stand up, and they hurried off the car before it started moving again. luke gestured for michael to follow closely behind him, and led him down a block or two of streets before again down an alleyway.

at the end of the alleyway lay one of the most beautiful buildings that michael had ever seen. no, not in a modern way or in a clean way. in a beautifully old fashioned way. michael loved historical buildings. they were his strange addiction. michael loved the way that they held so much character in their layout and furnishings.

"your house is beautiful," michael spoke with his jaw dropped.

"it's not much. i like this area of town much better than the newer parts, and even though it's secluded, it's cozy. away from any trouble on the streets. no one comes down this alleyway." luke shrugged. "i'm glad you like the outside, and i hope you love the inside just as much. follow me."

luke pulled out a key ring from his pocket and first unlocked the black iron gate that was in front of the house, and led michael past his collection of flower pots, the beautiful shades of pink on the flowers making michael believe that this guy couldn't be that bad if he appreciated art, pretty flowers, and old fashioned buildings.

the door was a gorgeous wood piece, mahogany michael supposed. the windows, like most windows in new york, had the same black iron bars protecting them from intruders, but it worked with the house's aesthetic.

inside was so beautiful michael almost wanted to cry.

a humongous crystal chandelier hung in the entryway, a piece michael never would've expected from the old exterior, and the floors were a stain darker than the mahogany door, but still held the same timeless quality. michael could see a dining room and a living room from his position, that was how open the layout was.

"i haven't seen this much square footage since i visited my mom back home how in the world could you afford this place? it's a hidden gem!" michael exclaimed, spinning in a circle to take it all in again. michael felt giddy like a kid in a candy store, and luke found it surprisingly endearing.

"i'm an artist, michael. the money i do make isn't necessarily a small number." luke chuckled. "wanna see more?"

michael nodded excitedly, and luke chuckled.

"come on," luke replied, and he began to lead him through each room of the house like a real estate agent, which made michael laugh, and begin to warm up to luke even more. he never thought that the attractive blond would be as kind to him personality wise as he was kind to the eyes.

luke led him through the dining room, and michael stared in awe at the magnificent china cabinet that adorned the wall on the far side of the room. next came the living room, and then his art studio.

it was an odd room to say the least.

"this is where the magic happens," luke smiled, his arms opening wide as he entered the black room. literally, michael noted the dark grey cement floors and the walls were painted black. simple white shelves adorned the walls. some of the shelves held bottles of paint, cups filled with paint brushes, copic markers, pencils, and huge sketchbooks. the other shelves held forms that looked almost like voodoo dolls.

"luke, what are those?" michael asked. well he thought that luke was normal... maybe it's an artist thing?

"oh these?" luke asked, crossing the room and picking up one of the little dolls with a small smile on his face. the doll had a fucking needle sticking out of its eyes, and resembled a girl with hair that was two different colors on either side.

"yeah," michael said, his confusion only growing, and almost a feeling of regret along with it.

"i have a friend name halsey. she's an artist too, but instead of painting, she designs and makes dolls like these. she sends me some of them," luke chuckled. he spun the doll between his fingers, looking at it oddly.

"oh," michael laughed. he was mentally laughing at himself for assuming luke was some kind of voodoo weirdo. "so when do you want to do the painting thing? today? tomorrow? next month? i can try to lose some weight before if that'd look better or whatever, and i'm basically always free since i have no friends and do nothing with my life so, uh, yeah."

if it were anyone else, luke would've done the sketch that day. he would've done it all.

but for some reason, he wasn't ready. not today with michael.

he wanted to plan it. he wanted to make it perfect.

"not today," luke sighed, and he looked next to him. michael was so close to him. luke wanted to touch his porcelain skin. luke noticed the blood rise to michael's cheeks in a soft blush as luke stared at him.

"when?" michael asked softly. luke didn't respond. "why are you staring at me?"

luke leaned forward and pressed his lips softly next to michael's mouth, pulling away from him slowly.

"tomorrow," he replied softly. "tomorrow."

and with that, michael left.

and luke?

he began to sketch and plan. he couldn't wait to paint michael.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> michael's backstory

the sun rose and set, but michael couldn't sleep, and he didn't know why he was so anxious about this whole situation. he understood that obviously he had fit whatever requirements that luke had been looking for, so there was no reason to worry that how he looked wouldn't be satisfactory for his piece. that and luke had totally kissed his cheek, which his mind would say is an artist thing, but his heart was praying that it was personal. additionally, michael was anxious because after this, everyone would be able to see his face in paintings. everyone would know about him through a piece of artwork, and that scared him.

along with the factors like college and growing up, michael moved from california to new york city for a reason: he hated his parents. they never paid attention to him, and when they did all they would do was yell at him and lecture him about how awful he is. and that made michael afriad that his parents would actually reach out to him. he didn't want their sympathy. the only person he even talked to besides luke now was his roommate, calum, who was never in anyway since he joined a fraternity.

by the time it was seven, michael decided to drag himself out of his bed. he couldn't sleep anyway, and he needed to look somewhat presentable. probably wearing just what he normally wears, since that's what luke saw him in and never said anything different. he decided on wearing his harley davidson muscle tank, along with a pair of black skinny jeans and black combat boots. simple, and along the lines of what he worn every day. he spritzed his hair with some dry shampoo (though he'd never admit to anyone about his laziness in the hygiene aspect of life) and he shoved his wallet and phone into his pockets before grabbing one of his walking dead comic books and making his way out of his dorm.

the trip to the coffee shop was short, and the streets seemed less crowded than usual. a dismal grey sky hung overhead and a slight drizzle of rain began to fall as he reached the cafe's shelter. he ordered a large iced macchiato and one of those weird breakfast sandwiches and sat down in his usual chair. luke had never given him his number, so michael just supposed that eventually he would show up.

but luke didn't show up like he usually did around nine in the morning (michael always noticed when the tall blond had walked in).

luke didn't rush in half an hour late and apologize for his lateness.

luke didn't even burst through the cafe doors at one in the afternoon. and so michael got up, ordered another coffee and sat down. he decided that he wasn't going to leave until luke arrived, and that maybe luke just hadn't shown up yet because he works best at night anyway.

finally, after michael had read through his comic book a grand total of four times, and the sun was setting over the new york skyline, luke walked through the cafe doors. he looked tired, but at the same time so awake.

"sorry i'm late, michael, i was up all night planning for this and then i woke up and it was three in the afternoon, and then i had to wake up and it takes like an hour to get here in this weather." luke sighed running a hand through his flat hair.

"it's fine," michael shrugged as he stood up, closed his comic book, and took a final sip of his watered down coffee.

"wow," luke smiled, looking michael up and down. "you look great. oh my god, i can see the color scheme already this is amazing."

michael blushed, and spoke a quiet 'thanks' under his breath before meeting luke in the eyes again, saying nothing.

"we'd better get going," luke said, and he reached for the comic book to hold it for michael, taking it out of his right hand and taking michael's hand in his own. michael jumped at the contact, and luke just looked at him oddly. "what? you know you want to."

michael opened his mouth to shoot back some smart comment, but shut it when he realized that luke was right. michael currently was receiving the most attention he had in the past ten years of his life. this was all that michael seemed to have, and it was just a business deal that started yesterday. yeah, michael felt pathetic when he realized that, but it was the truth.

the trip back to luke's home didn't feel as long as luke said it would be, and luke held michael's hand the whole way there. when they were inside luke's house, luke raised up michael's arm with a pout on his lips.

"what happened to you?" luke asked, his voice an odd blend of sympathy and complete confusion.

"rough family life. they're far away now, but you know what they say: old scars never heal." michael sighed and responded after taking a deep breath. after all these years, he would've thought the bruises on his wrists would've faded a bit, but they were still noticeable if the lighting was right, and it was.

"abusive parents?"

"on occasion my dad was but the incidents were few, and spread apart. the impact was more long lasting though." michael decided that he should just look anywhere else in the room. he'd never actually talked about this with anyone.

but luke just pulled him into a hug, and planted a soft kiss after on his lips.

"old scars never heal," he whispered under his breath as he pulled away, as if to himself.

and then michael felt the force of a fist against his jaw, and everything went black.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> luke begins his "work"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friendly reminder that i love you all and if you get triggered by blood, you might want to stop reading. i love you all, and im here for you.

when michael finally woke up, he found it hard to open his eyes. his right eye was definitely swollen. when he finally was able to get them open, he still couldn't see. blindfolded. michael was blindfolded.

   "l-luke?" michael called. he was sitting in some kind of hard wooden chair, his hands bound with rope to the arms of the chair. he wasn't gagged however, despite all the other restrictions.

   michael could hear the sound of the clinking of some kind of glass together, and he tried to imagine what could possibly be happening right now. that couldn't have been luke who had knocked him out and tied him up. it couldn't have been. luke was probably tied up beside him, bound and gagged and afraid.

   he heard the scuffle of shoes against the floor, and he could tell whoever was in the room was right there in front of him. he heard a soft chuckle, and felt the cool blade of a knife lightly press into his cheek. his chin began to quiver with fear.

   "don't be afraid," luke's voice replied, which just made michael strain himself, trying not to burst out sobbing. this couldn't be real. this had to be a nightmare. "smile for me, beautiful."

   and michael began to sob. the knife was pulled away from his cheek, and the blindfold was pulled off from over his eyes. luke looked the exact same as he had earlier, just he was wearing a black shirt now instead of the navy blue one he'd been wearing earlier, and his jeans were stained with what michael hoped was crimson paint.

   luke's left hand found michael's chin, and lifted it so that michael was forced to look him in the eyes. "i told you to smile."

  luke pulled back the knife again, and pressed the end of it into michael's cheek. not enough to go all the way through, but enough to draw blood. he dragged the blade down from michael's cheek to the corner of his mouth on one side. michael wanted to scream out in pain, but he couldn't get himself to do anything but whimper harshly at the extreme pain that was filling his gut.

   he wanted to scream as luke bent down, analyzing the line he had made on the one side before pressing his knife into michael's other cheek, doing to the same action to it. luke took a step back, and smiled wide at his work.

  "there! now you look happy," luke smiled before turning around and pulling out an easel from one of the far corners of the room.

  luke turned from the blank canvas to face michael, then back to the canvas before back to michael.

"but that's not good enough," luke frowned, before walking over to michael again and observing him in a circle. "i got it!"

   luke then pulled out his knife again, slashing at michael's arm (the same one luke had observed earlier), drawing blood instantly, causing michael to scream out in pain. luke then scraped with the back end of his knife, the blood transferring from michael's pale arm to a white mixing tray. the trail of blood left behind reminded michael of the stinging in his arm. the stinging he used to feel all the time.

   michael wanted to die. he wanted to die, he wanted to die, he wanted to die. this was a nightmare. this was every horror movie he never wanted to watch. tall, broad, and handsome stole his heart, then made him bleed until he couldn't bleed anymore.  
  luke turned around and picked up a paintbrush, dipping it into the crimson liquid before swiping it across michael's cheeks, almost like it was blush.

   "beautiful," luke whispered, before turning around to set down the palette. he turned back to face michael, a venomous look in his blue eyes. their shade of blue was hypnotizing, like a snake's killer glare.

   he walked slowly back towards michael, looking him up and down slowly before walking around behind michael. michael shivered as he felt luke's warm breath by his ear.

    he had to try and suppress a scream when luke latched his lips onto michael's neck, biting and sucking hard to leave huge bruises.

   michael knew hickies most always displayed love. this was not love.

this was destruction.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, please don't read this if blood or anything like that triggers you.

  
"just kill me. please, just kill me," michael whimpered as luke remained latched onto him. there was nothing about this situation that turned him on. luke was basically ripping his throat out with his teeth, and michael just wanted it to end. if his hands were free, he'd have grabbed the knife from luke's side.

    not to use on luke, but on himself.

luke pulled away from michael, walking around in front of him before leaning down so that they were at the same eye level.

   "all in sweet time, babe."

michael felt hot tears begin pooling in his eyes, occasionally running down his face bringing blood with them.

    luke turned around and walked over to some kind of closet in the back of the room.

"do you wanna see some of my other works, beautiful?" luke inquired.

   michael screamed, "no,", but luke just let out a loud laugh before opening up the closet anyway.

he pulled out a few canvases, covered in black fabric.

   "wouldn't want the colors to fade, now would we?" he shook his head while biting his lips (still pink from earlier). he pulled the fabric off of the first painting, and michael wanted to scream.

    he wanted to cry until he had no tears left. he wanted to disappear. he wanted to be back in the coffee shop. he wanted to hear the noise of thousands of people milling through the streets. he wanted to see the sun. he wanted to feel safe.

   but what michael saw did not in any way make him feel safe. what he saw made him want to strangle luke to the ground.

  the painting was the most grotesque thing he'd seen in a while, reminding him of something he would've seen on the walking dead.

   the man had dark hair with a red streak in it, and he was on his knees, his arms chained to the brick wall behind him. the wall had crude words written on it in what looked like was the boy's blood. his head was facing the ground, but his eyes were looking up at the viewer with sadness and rage woven together. his face was bruised, and his nose bleeding like there was no tomorrow. his arms were bloody, and his white shirt even more so. one of his ears was completely missing.

   michael's heartbeat increased. most people would think this was just an elaborate painting to display the destruction bullying caused, but michael knew the truth.

   "you killed him, didn't you?" michael whispered. "you beat him up, tied him up, and painted him in his last moments of life. and then you killed him."

   luke clasped his hands, looking proudly at his work. "jack was one of the harder ones i had to work with. he held more confidence than any person i'd ever worked with. it took a while to get his past out of him, but i always do. he went down fighting, didn't he? i called that one 'something's gotta give' isn't that cool?"

   michael wanted to throw up. "no, i don't specifically agree."

luke shrugged before revealing the next painting. "this one's a collab i did with my friend."

   the painting showed a girl who was dressed in beautiful pastel clothing sitting in a completely white room. her hair was two-toned, and her makeup reminded michael of pop art. she looked positively beautiful until michael reached her eyes. he couldn't look away from her... eyes. they weren't visible through all of the blood, which was dark and dripping down her pale skin. the most disturbing part was the shadow in front of the girl, painted completely black, but outlining the fact that the shadow had a voodoo doll with needles sticking out of the eyes.

   "these were innocent people," michael screamed. he couldn't hold it in. "these were innocent people, and you killed them for the sake of your own personal gain. if anyone here deserves to die, it's you."

   luke smirked. "that's where you're wrong, michael. these people robbed me of happiness. they were ruining my life."

    "what the actual fuck could they have done to you that you needed to kill them? to kill me?" michael yelled, and luke just 'tsked' at him, before punching him hard in the jaw again.

   and michael went out cold.


	8. Chapter 8

michael woke up to the smell of coffee, and for a second he thought maybe he was back in the coffee shop. he was wrong.

   luke was sitting at a desk in the corner of the room, his hair flat against his forehead, a styrofoam coffee cup in his grip as he (seemingly) sketched. he gave michael a small glance from the corner of his eye before smirking (michael noticed luke did so a lot).

  "jack bassam barakat stole my lunch every day of the week in fifth grade. he called me a fat faggot, and he humiliated me in front of my whole class every day. i lost twenty three pounds in the fifth grade because i starved myself." luke spoke, his eyes not leaving the paper. his wrist flicked furiously with his words, and he watched as the pencil lead broke, and as luke grabbed another pencil from a small container on the desk.

    "melanie martinez's dad had an affair with halsey's mother. it destroyed her whole family, consequently causing me to feel distraught."

   michael didn't know what to say, tears bubbling in his eyes. luke's list kept going.

"taylor swift's dad put my mom's business out of business, forcing us into poverty."

   "cody carson told me to kill myself before he did it himself."

"alex gaskarth broke my only guitar, and burned my notebook of songs."

   "and you," luke shook his head, looking up from his paper chuckling. "you've made me lose my goddamn mind, michael. i'm head over heels in love with you. and that's why you need to die."

   michael's mouth widened again. he was speechless, and even more terrified than he was earlier.

"luke," michael whimpered. "if you love someone, you don't kill them. you hold them tight and cherish them."

   "no," luke shook his head, standing up and walking around the room with his hands fisted in his hair. "if you love someone, you let them go. but i can't let this fucking go. i can't let you go until you're six feet under the dirt. but, oh, will i miss seeing you and your beautiful eyes. that's why i need to paint you."

   "y-you're demented," michael began to shake. he clenched his fists, which were still bound to the chair. he was trapped. he was going to die, for no reason at all.

   luke threw his head back with maniacal laughter. "i get that a lot."

"p-people are g-going to fi-ind out. you'll be i-imprisoned forever. y-your career will b-be over." michael began to let out shaky sobs. the pain felt so distant now. everything felt numb. he didn't want it to end. not yet. not like this.

   luke smiled and walked over to michael. "michael, not to be offensive, but you've made it pretty obvious that no one's going to miss you when you're gone. no one except for me. and even i will move on."

   michael looked away from luke's gaze, his sobs getting harder and harder.

"don't cry, beautiful," luke sighed, grabbing michael's chin and directing his gaze back to luke.

   and luke leaned down and kissed michael. he kissed him like there was no tomorrow, and michael let him. he let luke sit down on his sore legs and wrap his long, strong arms around his neck. he let him slip his tongue into his mouth and fight for dominance.

   "anything if it gives me a chance of living," michael thought to himself, hoping luke would realize his mistakes before it was too late.

   but michael did like the kiss. he liked it a lot, and he was perfectly fine with the fact that luke wasn't quite done with him yet either. it felt good to have luke's hands tugging at the base of his hair, and he knew he'd do the same to luke if only his hands were freed.

   luke pulled away, and michael sighed at the loss of contact. luke's lips were so pink, and it almost made him forget what he had done to michael only moments earlier.

   "god, you're so beautiful." luke traced michael's lips with his pointer finger before lightly tracing the lines he had drawn with his knife, which had sloppily scarred up. michael said nothing, closing his eyes at the intimate contact.

   he wanted luke to stay like this. he wanted him to change his mind. he wanted luke to let him walk home that night. he wanted to see his flat again, and calum. he wanted to say that he was sorry to everyone. he wanted to see ashton order the same drink every day at the coffee shop. he wanted to see his goddamn parents again, and he had earlier never wanted to see them.

    "give me one night," michael whispered. "give me one more night to live. i'll do whatever you want. just let me call my parents and tell them i love them. let me call calum and tell him i love him. before you do it, we... we can get coffee at the coffee shop. i'll pay for it and everything. just let me be ready to say goodbye to this."

    luke looked between michael's eyes and his lips. the deal was a decent one. luke would get what he wanted, and michael what he wanted.

    luke ran a hand through his hair.

"you get two phone calls, and i get to do whatever i want. then, we continue this. this needs to be finished."

    michael smiled wider than he'd ever smiled, and pressed his lips to luke's best he could while tied up.

   he was going to get out of this mess.


	9. Chapter 9

luke slowly untied michael's hands after michael assured him he wouldn't do anything to luke to harm him. luke was still uncertain, so he handed michael the phone and told him that he would stay in the room while he called his family and calum.

michael searched his mind to try and remember their phone numbers exactly.

he slowly typed the number he hadn't called in forever into the phone, the california area code oh so familiar to him.

he pressed the phone lightly to his ear, praying that someone would pick up the phone.

and they did.

"hello?" michael heard his dad's voice clear across the line, and he immediately teared up.

"uh, hey dad," michael gulped, and he heard a scoff from the other end of the line.

"karen! karen! michael actually called!" he yelled before laughing rudely. "what the hell do you need? money? that roommate of yours finally put his head on straight? kicked out of college? in jail?"

"honey," he heard in the background, knowing his mom was telling his dad to calm down, and michael's eye began to twitch. he's starting to remember why he moved all the way across the country.

"actually, none of the above," he chuckled awkwardly, and prayed that his mom would remember what he used to say when he got in trouble at school. "audiva me."

"no need to speak nonsense to us, michael," his dad groaned, but he heard his mom clear her throat.

"what's wrong, michael?" she sounded sympathetic, in a way he hadn't heard since kindergarten.

"i dunno, i'm just in the outskirts of brooklyn near that bridge i used to always tell you about, you know, the really rusty one. it was just a work of art, and i just remembered how i haven't spoken to my parents in forever," he tried not to start crying, but his voice broke. "but you never know when something might happen or how much you'd miss them if something did."

"michael, are you being held hostage? brooklyn?" his mom called through the phone, and michael saw luke stand up from where he was seated across the room, and make his way over to him slowly, his eyes studying michael.

"y-yes," he whimpered. "i miss you both. i love you. i know i moved away, and it seems like i never listened to you, but i did. i did. i heard every word. i love you."

"we'll do something michael, just we need more information." she called through the phone. "something, anything. we'll call the police."

"you all should communicate with some of my college friends," he said as casually as he could, hoping they'd text calum and tell him the deal. "maybe one day you both could come visit me in new york, and we could come down to brooklyn with calum and walk around."

"we're going to try and help you. we love you very much."

michael tried not to cry. this was something he hadn't heard in forever, but he believed it, "i know, i know."

"we're going to tell calum everything." my mom assured me, and i thanked the lord she'd understood my implied message.

"okay, mom and dad. i love you both so much."

"we love you michael." his dad replied, and michael almost died.

"goodbye."

and michael hung up. luke nodded at him slowly before grabbing the phone from him.

"you didn't tell me you've been down here before." he tossed the phone between his hands. "you knew about the lame bridge around the corner from here. it mean something to you?"

his question sounded more like an accusation, but michael was prepared to combat it.

"it does, actually. it's where i figured out that i got accepted into college while i was traveling alone." michael nodded with a small smile, hoping his lie didn't show. luke gave him a confused look before shrugging.

"you have one more phone call. make it count." he smiled, before pressing a kiss to michael's cheek.

and michael just blushed.


	10. Chapter 10

michael was about to press the call button, calum's number already typed in before luke grabbed the phone out of his hand. it had only been a minute.

"i changed my mind." luke chuckled, shoving his phone into his back pocket, leaving michael speechless.

"w-what? no. you just said i got two phone calls." michael shook his head, his eyes wide. "you can't take that away."

"i was going to give you two phone calls," he sighed, "but then, i realized the little plan you came up with. i looked up your shitty latin phrase. 'help me'? i'm not daft, michael. i know that you know how to get out of this, but it's not going to work. not today. we're doing this my way."

luke placed his hands on michael's chest, pushing him forcefully back towards the uncomfortable chair he'd been trapped in earlier. michael was hyperventilating.

"y-you can't. all life is precious. please. please," michael whimpered, but luke just leaned down and bit michael's lip until it began to bleed, and michael began to scream.

"you don't get to choose anymore, michael. i make the rules up now." luke growled, "and in my rules, the pretty boy kisses me until he can't breathe."

michael didn't want to do it. not now.

"i'll even let you have your hands free this time," luke whispered, moving his arms from pressed flush against michael's chest to around his neck. and he leaned forward to kiss michael. michael didn't want this. he didn't want luke. he didn't want anything more than to be back in his bed.

he didn't move his mouth against luke's, not even when luke pulled away and yelled at him telling him to.

he ignored the slap he received to the face when he didn't return the favor.

he began to feel more drawn to the kiss when luke's hands pulled at his blue hair.

luke pulled away, and sighed. "pretend you're into this. for a second. please?" and he picked up michael's hands, forcefully moving them to his own hair before latching back onto michael.

michael tugged as hard as he could at luke's hair, trying to implement pain if he could. sadly, it didn't work because luke seemed to be turned on by the pain, just moving closer to michael.

michael felt disgusting. he wanted this to end.

fuck it, he was gonna die anyway.

so he head-butted luke before taking one of his hands and hitting luke where he knew it'd hurt the most. luke's eyes shut in pain before he growled with anger.

"you're so going to regret that, you fucker," luke grabbed a knife from the nearest table, stabbing it into michael's side, twisting it slightly.

michael's eyes rolled back in his head as he screamed an anguished scream, "shit."

luke pulled the knife out before slamming michael's arms down into their cuffs on the chair. "we're doing this now."

he pulled out the canvas, which michael saw he'd already almost finished sketching and block coloring. luke grabbed a pencil and penciled in an added side wound, and michael could feel the blood leaving his body. very quickly. he'd be dead within the hour, at least that was his best bet.

"hey luke," michael called, and luke gave him a confused look. michael just slowly raised his middle finger at luke. "fuck you."

"wish i could've," luke rolled his eyes.

michael watched luke's hands steadily as he sketched and painted. luke had explained something about oil paints. or maybe it was pastels. or watercolor. he couldn't remember. everything was starting to slip from him. it'd been maybe half an hour, and he was going delirious.

"just a bit longer," luke mumbled.

"what? until you're done, or until i'm dead?" michael whimpered. he wanted this to end. now.

luke paused before shrugging. "both, i guess."

michael watched luke as he painted, his eyes slowly shutting occasionally. he watched as luke grabbed a black pen and swiped his signature across the bottom right hand side of the painting.

"michael," luke called. "it's done. wanna see?"

michael said nothing in response, but luke turned the canvas around anyways. michael almost puked at the sight. it looked just like him, just broken. destroyed.

luke had put extra attention into michael's eyes, making them bloodshot with tears like he was sure they were, and making his lips cherry red and scabbed with blood. blood stained cheeks and the stab wound in his side made him want to sob harder. the fact that luke had painted in the shelf full of voodoo dolls and thrown canvases baffled michael.

"it's positively demented," michael mumbled, too weak to say anything more.

"i'm glad you think so." luke smiled proudly, grabbing his knife from his desk. "michael clifford, it's been a great pleasure painting you today. hopefully heaven let's you in."

and luke plunged the knife into michael's skull.


	11. Chapter 11

"we are proud to welcome luke hemmings with his collection of deeply emotional paintings. before we open the exhibit, we'd like to have him share a few words with you all today." luke observed the plump well dressed man who was standing next to him as he introduced luke. there were maybe three hundred people in the exhibit right now, all allowed in only by invitation. the event would be open to the public later.

"well thank you, steven." luke gave the crowd a glamorous smile. "today i share with you an exhibit of disturbingly real paintings. paintings displaying loss, pain, bullying, mistreatment, and depression. these subjects are very real, and i've tried to depict them in a way that shows the true destruction they cause to people. today, we honor all of those who have struggle with situations like these."

the crowd applauded politely, and luke gestured for everyone to make their way into the exhibit.

their reactions were always the same. open-mouthed stares at the depictions of gore. people were drawn to all of the paintings.

people were especially inquisitive on luke's most recent piece, "broken home". the painting of michael.

a group of people were surrounding luke, asking about it.

"i learned about this character from a friend. he would be the kind of guy you never really noticed. he wouldn't try to draw attention to himself. he'd be humble, and kind. he'd be careful not to say anything to make people think bad of him, because that's what happened to him his whole life. his whole life he'd be beaten down by the lack of love from his parents. their cruel words. he felt so alone, and his fear of making it any worse bound him down. nothing could stop the pain."

the people around him would nod, and they'd leave him be.

luke stared up at the painting hanging on the wall of michael. his eyes looked so real. he could feel michael's fear and sadness through the painting. as if michael was truly staring down at him.

"i didn't want to kill him, i had to," luke thought to himself.

the exhibit was probably one of the best one of luke's exhibits had ever opened. people were captivated by his paintings, taking time to cherish the stories they told.

and the funny thing was, no one knew their support of his work just fueled him to kill even more innocent people.

♢

karen and daryl clifford took the first flight they could to new york when calum texted them back saying that michael never called him.

they got to michael and calum's dorm as quickly as they possibly could, meeting calum for the first time. all of them were distraught beyond compare.

"you're saying he didn't communicate with you at all?" karen pleaded to calum, who just shook his head. calum felt like this was all his fault.

it wasn't.

they all spent the next twenty minutes on a subway to brooklyn, making their way soon after to the rusty bridge. they had no clue that if they only walked two blocks south west that they would find a house down an alleyway with a dumpster that contained michael's body.

they didn't, until calum remembered that michael had insisted that they both sign in for 'find my iphone' on each other's devices.

"i always lose my fucking phone because i bring it everywhere," michael had said, "it's for my own good."

"if michael has his phone with him, as he always does, we'll find him. we'll find him." calum nodded with a small smile of hope on his face.

he opened the app, and saw that it said that michael's phone should only be two blocks away.

"my baby's two blocks away," karen whispered, and they all immediately began walking in the direction of michael's phone.

they passed by the alleyway three times before even realizing there was a house down there, and that's where the tracker was leading them.

daryl observed the cast iron gate before looking to the speaker thingy on the side of the fence. he pressed the call button gently, as if it would break under his fingertips.

"i'm not seeing anyone right now." a cool, calm, and collected voice spoke on the line. "please come back later."

"sir," karen called. "we're looking for our son. michael clifford. college student, colored hair."

silence flooded the line.

"we have no such person here. sorry."

"we tracked his phone through 'find my iphone'. i'm pretty sure he's here," calum rolled his eyes. "please."

"i don't know what to tell you."

and the line went dead.

♢

they would never know exactly what happened to michael. they would never know about luke hemmings, or his gory paintings that depicted things he'd done. they would never know how michael died, or why he died. they would never see how much he truly loved and cared about all of them despite how he was treated.

it's true what they always say: no one appreciates what they have until it's gone.


	12. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the end :)

calum never really recovered after michael went missing. michael's parents didn't want to stop searching. the fact that michael had actually communicated with them before whatever had happened happened meant the world to them. michael was willing to forgive them, and all they wanted was to be able to be there for him now. to hug him, and tell him they loved him in person.

calum didn't have as much faith as karen and daryl.

calum had a gut feeling that michael was gone forever. yeah, there were posters of michael up around the city, saying to call one of the phone numbers if they found michael, but calum never thought it'd happen. he never believed anyone would dial his number, or karen's or daryl's.

calum rarely showed up to his classes. he fell behind in his work. his parents stopped financially supporting him because of his professors' complaints. calum always wore long sleeves. calum always wore grey.

he would run his fingers over michael's bed frame every night before going to bed, wondering why he was never nice enough to the boy with a heart of gold.

he would remember how michael laughed, throwing his head back like he'd just heard the funniest joke ever.

he would remember how michael was always excited to tell him about the little, simple things in life.

he remembered how michael always went to the little coffee shop just down the road from their dorm. calum'd go there sometimes, and just sit and think about life. he never ordered anything, and he never spoke to anyone. sometimes, he'd bring one of michael's walking dead comic books, touching the pages, but never really reading them.

michael was a book calum never had time to read. he was a draft that never got published. he was a painting with a concept no one could understand. he was the one cloud in a clear blue sky. he was the new moon. he was an enigma, but yet calum now felt like he understood him better now than ever.

michael had been alone his whole life, and calum now felt the same way.

he'd had friends at university, but he threw that away when michael disappeared.

he used to smile and laugh and party and drink, but he gave that up when everything went downhill.

every glass now seemed half full. the sun would always set, and it'd never rise. he'd breathe out, and try not to breathe in. he never succeeded. sometimes he'd feel like maybe this time, his breathing would stop forever.

his mind was a whirlpool he was stuck in; a tide drawing him farther and farther from the shore. he'd stepped from a drop-off into the endless abyss of an ocean made of his own tears, and nothing could save him from it.

that's what he thought at least, until one day at 5:33 p.m., twelve weeks since michael disappeared, calum received a phone call from an unknown number.

he didn't pick it up at first, but when the voicemail began, he picked it up.

"hello, my name's ashton irwin. i saw a poster with this number on it, and i thought i'd cal—"

calum picked up the phone instantly pressing it close to his ear.

"hello?" his voice cracked. he hadn't spoken in weeks.

"oh, hello, i'm as—"

"ashton, i know." calum caught his breath. "i know, i heard. i'm calum. hood."

"hey, calum," ashton seemed to smile through the line, and calum began to grow impatient.

"what do you know about michael?" he blurted out.

"michael," he whispered before connecting the name to the poster, "yes, i used to see michael every day. in the coffee shop on the corner of sixth?"

"he'd go there every day," calum whispered to himself, excited that this guy knew something. "wh-where is he? where are you? i'll be there as fast as possible."

"i'm in an art exhibit. in the bathroom, actually, because 'no phones allowed'. i haven't seen him, but i've seen something you'll probably want to see." he replied, and calum began to shake his legs in excitement.

"which exhibit? i'll be there as quick as i can."

"slow down, slow down. it closes in less than half an hour. you'll never make it in time. i'll text you the address, and meet me there tomorrow at noon sharp in the foyer." ashton spoke calmly. "we'll talk in person then."

"o-okay," calum sighed. "okay, text me the address as soon as you hang up. see you tomorrow, ashton."

"bye," ashton spoke, hanging up the line.

calum didn't sleep at all that night. he stayed up all night thinking about the phone call, and ashton, and michael. mainly michael.

when the clock hit eleven the next day, he couldn't take it any longer. he left for the art exhibit, getting there thirty minutes early, shaking his legs as he sat in the grand opening hall.

his phone buzzed, and he saw a text from ashton.

from ashton— text me when you get here

to ashton— already am

from ashton— where?

to ashton— by the fountain, im wearing grey

calum looked up from his phone to see a tall, curly haired dude coming his way. he looked very professional, wearing thick framed glasses and a suit and tie.

"calum?" the guy questioned, and calum immediately rose to his feet to greet ashton.

"hi. thanks for being here, and doing this and everything." calum spoke quickly.

"it's nothing really. i'm just missing my lunch break, but i'm glad to help." ashton nodded. calum felt his eyes observe his long sleeves despite the fact that it was 90 degrees outside, but he didn't comment on it. calum was grateful for that.

"follow me this way," ashton spoke softly. he led him to the right down a hallway or two. the hallways were filled with glorious paintings that made calum feel like he was in europe. ashton paused right outside of the exhibit that had the name 'luke hemmings' on a board next to it. "i warn you, you're not going to like what you're about to see...it's....odd."

"i-i think i can handle it," calum nodded.

"okay," ashton whispered, and he began to walk through the exhibit.

calum felt triggered by what he saw. paintings adorned the wall with depictions of gore; blood, bondage, and depression.

"what the fuck is this?" calum asked rhetorically, giving the paintings a look of disgust.

"this isn't even the worst of it," ashton commented as they walked past paintings with gory pictures and disturbing names.

calum read them off in his mind.

'kids in the dark'

'dead to me'

'bad blood'

'wolf in sheep's clothing'

'something's gotta give'

and—

calum's breath hitched. he felt himself starting to hyperventilate at the painting in front of him.

it was michael.

it was michael bound to a chair, covered in blood; bruised and beaten. his eyes held sadness beyond compare, and calum felt himself starting to have a panic attack.

it looked so real.

"calum? calum, hey, calm down." ashton put his hands on calum's arms, turning him around so he wasn't facing the painting of michael. "calm down. breathe. breathe. count with me: one, two, three, four, five, six, seve—"

ashton was interrupted by a security guard asking if they were okay, and if they needed help.

calum's breathing had slowed back down, but he was still freaking out.

"this isn't just a painting," calum spoke quickly.

"yes, it is, calum," ashton spoke slowly, trying to calm him down, but calum just shook his head frantically.

"no, it's not. michael called his parents as a call for help before he disappeared. when did this display go up?" calum's words poured out of his mouth. he felt like he was going to pass out or be sick.

"around twelve weeks ago," the security guard informed calum, causing him to flip out again, hence causing the security guard to pull him and ashton out of the exhibit into a back hallway.

"s-sir, michael gordon clifford went missing twelve weeks ago. this painting is of him, blue hair and all. those are his eyes. i've seen them. he's worn that shirt. this is him. whoever painted this knows where he went," calum spoke frantically, and ashton looked from the security guard to calum steadily.

"that's all we needed to know," ashton confirmed to the security guard. "we can now finally interrogate him properly. he'll be convicted, in the slammer for life."

"w-what?" calum questioned, confused how ashton had went from young businessman to informed agent.

"i'm not supposed to tell you this, but i work for the secret police. i've been studying the cases of disappearing teenagers over the past few months. we've had our suspicions, but now we can press charges, and confine him." ashton nodded. "we will figure out what happened to these people, including michael."

"o-okay," calum stuttered. "when do we start?"

"now," ashton grasped calum's hand, and began leading him on the first subway that they could catch to brooklyn.

they made it there in record time. it was around two when they wound up in front of the same cast iron gate calum had faced twelve weeks ago. where they'd tracked michael's phone.

"michael's parents had tracked his phone here. the man didn't let them in," calum whispered.

"yeah, well that man was the culprit," ashton cracked his knuckles before radioing into work, letting them know he was at the house, and to send backup just in case anything went especially wrong.

"we'll ring in, and if he doesn't let us in, i have the legal right to let myself in with this badge." ashton pulled a shiny piece of metal out of his pocket.

calum nodded in silence as a response. he watched ashton press the button as michael's parents had weeks ago.

no one picked up.

"fine," ashton shrugged, pulling out some heavy duty looking tools, using them to pry open the gate. "don't worry, it still works the same. i'm a professional."

calum didn't doubt him, simply following behind ashton quietly.

ashton knocked physically on the door to the house, and frowned when no response came, and he sensed no movement inside.

so ashton picked the lock, letting the two of them into the eerily silent house. it was a beautiful house, but there was something wrong inside.

calum stuck closely behind ashton, not wanting to get lost or encounter anything alone.

they walked throughout the bottom floor, seeing nothing particularly interesting besides a rat that was climbing into the unlit fireplace. it was kinda gross.

the climbed the stairs to the second floor. the first room they entered up there made claum's mind begin to expload. the room was perfectly grey, shelved simply, containing a shelf with voodoo dolls on it, reminding him of the painting of michael. he saw the chair michael had been in. he saw blood on the fucking ground.

calum subconsciously began to cry as he observed the room's traits. when he went to touch something, ashton stopped him, saying something about dna samples and fingerprints. calum just wanted to explode. he wanted to disappear.

"let's check out the next room, yeah?" ashton spoke quietly, and calum followed him to a room that was obviously this dude's bedroom.

that room was even worse.

first of all, it smelled like rotten flesh, and all for obvious reasons. because michael's body was there. it was crumpled, yet cleaned in a disturbing way. as if he was being prepared for a funeral, but whomever took too long. flies were buzzing around his head, and he was obviously starting to decompose on the bed. he was covered in a sheet, which made calum assume he wasn't wearing anything underneath. calum would've bet on the fact that he was asleep if his eyes weren't open wide.

second of all, there were polaroids of beaten people on all of the walls, including one of michael, which could've been identical to the painting he'd see earlier. he thought he was going to pass out.

third of all, calum could see a light on in the en suite bathroom, the door locked.   
ashton noticed this too, and began moving steadily toward the door. he knocked, jiggled the handle, and then proceeded to unlock the door with a pick.

inside was a horrible scene.

a cabinet had been opened, empty bottles that once contained pills that calum only recognized because they were prescribed for mental disorders such as depression and bipolar disorder littered the floor. and a blonde figure was crumpled on the floor.

ashton checked his neck for a pulse, shaking his head as he didn't find one.

calum didn't know what to think. this guy single handedly murdered all these innocent people, and at the same time was able to paint some of the most beautifully gory paintings calum had ever seen. if they weren't things this guy had literally done to other people, it wouldn't have been as disturbing.

but calum was disgusted. he was almost glad this guy was dead.

"look at this," ashton pulled out a journal from underneath the blonde, and he opened up the pages.

the first few pages contained scribbles of abstract ideas for paintings, disturbingly containing words like 'slash' and 'no eyes', which calum thought was positively mental. later on, the concept shifted to a diary. starting with twelve weeks ago.

'i killed him. i loved him, and i killed him. i had to do it.'

the next day was different.

'it took a bit, but i threw away his body.'

two days later, 'i couldn't throw him away.'

and.

'i'll just keep him forever.'

and

'he never kissed me back anyways, it's almost the same.'

and

'dead people are almost as cold as i am.'

and

'i think i want to join michael.'

and

'do murderers go to heaven?'

and

'i guess i'll just have to wait and see.'

the final entry: 'see you soon, baby.'

calum shivered at the words, looking at the lifeless body crumpled on the ground.

"he killed michael, threw away his body, took it out of the dumpster, cleaned it up, made out with it, and killed himself to be with michael." ashton whispered.

calum's lip quivered. he couldn't speak. he just clutched the notebook tightly, turning the pages in his hand slowly.

he then landed on a page with writing on it near the back.

'check under the third floorboard from the left of the refrigerator. not my best work, but my last.'

calum tapped ashton, showing him the note in silence. ashton nodded, racing down the stairs, calum following behind a bit slower.

ashton was prying the floorboards up as calum stood back and watched. calum felt faint.

there was painting concealed underneath.

ashton looked at it, his face flushing at whatever the image was.

"w-what is it?" calum whispered, his voice breaking with his silent tears.

ashton bit his lip, looking between calum and the painting.

he turned it around to show calum, and calum felt dirty for even seeing something like it.

long story short, luke must've had a dead body kink, and really wanted to depict that in his art, painting for the first time himself in a painting with michael.

calum felt violated. he felt unclean for michael. he wanted michael back.

but michael was dead.

luke was dead.

but luke's legacy wouldn't die with him.

they never released the explicit painting seen by the eyes of the two boys, but they did reveal wheat luke had done to the victims.

calum would never forget about luke, or ashton or michael.

but mainly michael.

for michael was only a naïve college student who trusted the words of the artist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanted to say thank you for taking the time to read this story! if you like this story, be sure to comment, send kudos, check out my wattpad mellifluousmgc, and/or recommend this to a friend! i love you guys!
> 
> plus im considering writing a han solo/leia fanfic, so if anyone is interested, be sure to let me know because i dont know if im the only person that wants that? i dunno


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